Dust and Smoke

I feel my memories stir; I feel them move; I feel them look at me, and blink like a person who has just woken up from the deepest of slumbers. I watch my memories walk groggily in my mind; I watch them as they ‘accidentally’ spill things over on the pristine floor of my mind. And the more they spill, the more I feel.

I feel a tsunami build up inside me; A tsunami of emotions sometimes healing me, sometimes opening up my wounds. And I let the flood take over me. I stand there like a fisherman who faces the tsunami well aware of his death, just to bid goodbye to his comrade – to his boat. And after the tsunami subsides, I am surprised to see myself alive; And all that is left around me is the evidence of what had happened. My emotions settle down like smoke settles slowly on the top, and dust settles slowly at the bottom; And as I rock my memories back to sleep, I take a good, long look at the souvenirs that my once pristine mind holds: Dust and smoke. The smoke moves to the top and the dust stays at the bottom.